


Φωσφόρος (phōsphoros)

by hitlikehammers



Category: Lost, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-18
Updated: 2011-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitlikehammers/pseuds/hitlikehammers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He isn’t ready, but he’s unwilling to face the Fall. <b>General Series Spoilers for Lost and Supernatural.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Φωσφόρος (phōsphoros)

**Author's Note:**

> Crossovers... what on earth have you done to me?

Blood runs in the oceans. He cannot see it, but he knows -- he can taste it on his tongue, too many years and too many wars and too many breaths against the beat of his heart.

He isn’t ready, but he’s unwilling to face the Fall.

 _‘Yisra’el,’_ he hears it, mocking, feels the presence of another -- a soul Greater than his own, Deeper, and yet Shallow -- dark Light, thick with loathing, aimed inward as surely as out.

 _‘Have you prevailed?’_ it asks him, close, and far -- asks with sadness, with ridicule and shame. _‘Have you persevered with your God?’_

Jacob says nothing, stares at the sea.

 _‘My Seals have Ridden,’_ it tells him, taunts him, tries to sway his hand; _‘my Army awaits the Seventh,’_ and Jacob has heard them, the sounding of the Horns, footsteps marching, endless; a tinge, the gasp of smoke on the breeze.

 _‘My Throne is endless.’_ A sigh, a Revelation that moves in the surface of the water, recedes against the surf: the missive of Pergamon, had they ever dreamed such works and ends.

 _‘My Throne is in the Hearts of Man,’_ comes the hiss, a viper and a frightened child, a cornered wretch; Jacob can feel the rumble of confession against him as a hand, pock-marked and frail, Stronger than Sight and Sound, settles at the center of his chest, feels the pulse of a Life forgotten, a Life ill-equipped.

 _‘Climb your ladder, cretin,’_ and it wrenches under the lungs, twists beneath the ribs. _‘Climb, and despair.’_

He is a summit in the storm; he does as he was made to, and there is no choice, no illusion of fate and destiny here -- some things stretch beyond human nature, beyond what God had given, and taken away.

Hand over hand, he ascends into nothing, into black skies and flame. The skin sears, peels from his palms until there is only bone, until he is dust unto dust and yet he moves, continues, shivers leaf-like and crumbling as tears he never thought to shed stream from his eyes, turn him to Red, bring War to his heart: a Mirror of things long forgotten, dear inside his soul.

He is no Lamb, he deserves no less.

 _‘The end is come, Son of Soil, Child of Waste,’_ and the whisper is warm at the crook of his neck; he flinches from it, wants to lean, fold himself within it and grasp something Brighter; start anew. His knuckles flex around the rungs and he trembles, overcome. He is more than human, but mortal in his blood. This is beyond the apex of his own heart, above his place in a greater Plan.

_‘Fall.’_

And Jacob cannot; Jacob _won’t_.

He turns, releases his grip and swallows Light for the last time, for All of Time.

He doesn’t expect it, when Lucifer’s arms, tattered wings of ash and gold engulf him, embrace him, and there is Peace inside Destruction as the promise of what lies Above eludes him, as the heat of Below takes his heart and transforms him, burns him alive -- ushers him to something more than life could hope, could dread to be; he doesn’t expect it.

But he’d _believed_.


End file.
